


Elfsheen

by deedeeinfj



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Runs with Tolkien's original plan for Aragorn and Éowyn. Unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The ideas used in this story can be found in The Treason of Isengard, volume 2 of "The History of the Lord of the Rings" and part of "The History of Middle-earth." A few sentences are directly from Tolkien's draft. There is no Théodred, but Théoden has an older daughter named Idis, about whom Tolkien wrote nothing before he decided to eliminate her from the story.
> 
> This story is unfinished, and I don't have plans at this time to complete it. I'm putting it on here because I want to have all my work in one place and because some people might want to read what's here anyway. Written in 2004.

_Elfstone, Elfstone, bearer of my green stone,_  
 _In the south under snow a green stone thou shalt see._  
 _Look well, Elfstone! In the shadow of the dark throne_  
 _Then the hour is at hand that long hath awaited thee._ (1)

  
So Galadriel had spoken and bid Gandalf relay to him. And now, watching the two women as they left the king's presence, Aragorn knew that in this hour, he had indeed found the long-awaited. She, niece of Théoden King, with unhappiness loosing its hold on the lines of her face as she touched her uncle's cheek and welcomed him back, smiling, from the poisonous hold of the worm-tongue. She, grey-eyed and silent in her former grief. Éowyn Elfsheen, the daughter of Éomund.

Before the door closed behind her, she stopped and turned back to see her uncle. From the high windows, the light shone down and wrapped itself around her, releasing her from the shadows of the throne. Very fair and slender she seemed. Her face was filled with gentle pity, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. So Aragorn saw her for the first time in the light of day, and after she was gone, he stood still, looking at the dark doors and taking little heed of other things.

Gandalf needed no help in convincing Théoden that Rohan must go to war, particularly when the king's heart was strengthened by the sight of Éomer released. On Théoden's wish for the travelers to rest, however, they disagreed.

"We have not the time to waste," Gandalf said, eyes glinting. "When this is over, when our doom is decided for good or ill, then may we rest in all the comfort we have earned. As the shadow deepens in the East, we have time only to eat and to ride."

Théoden nodded grimly. "Then eat we shall, and ride also. I will lead the people into the mountains, to our refuge at Helm's Deep."

"That is wise," said Gandalf. "And who shall rule your people while you are gone?"

"Éowyn sister-daughter shall be lady in my stead."

Aragorn could not ignore the smile cast by Gandalf in his direction as the wizard replied, "That is a good choice."

"And what of your own daughter?" objected one of the counselors. "She is nearly twice the Lady Éowyn's age, and surely has more wisdom."

"The king is wise in his choice of Éowyn," said Háma. "She is a great warrior, wise and high-hearted. All love her. Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone."

A great meal was spread on the tables of Meduseld that evening, a farewell to those who must fight. Aragorn was silent, but his eyes followed Éowyn as she served wine to the guests. The king's daughter Idis walked beside her, and the two of them spoke and laughed with scarcely an idea that he watched them - watched her. Her eyes wandered slightly as she turned, and they met his. Long she looked upon Aragorn, and long he looked upon her.

* * *

 

"Éowyn?"

Éowyn blinked and turned to the older woman, her voice absent as she spoke. "Is it possible, Idis, to see one's fate as clearly as though a curtain were drawn from before it?" She knew nothing of this ranger who traveled with the wizard, yet she saw in him the hope and strength that would save Rohan. She saw the unification of the south and the north, her people and his people. She saw herself at his side.

"Do you see a throne in your future, Éowyn?" Idis laughed, but not unkindly.

"A throne?"

Idis poured wine for the last man at the table and guided Éowyn away from the crowds. "The throne of Gondor," she murmured. "I saw Lord Aragorn watching you - I saw you looking at him. Do you not know, Éowyn, that he is the king?"

"I must have been mistaken, then," replied Éowyn softly. "For I am no queen. I should have been born a man, but as it is, I am a shieldmaiden with no desire to grace castle halls. I am no ornament." She spoke frankly, knowing that Idis would have no reproaches for such feelings.

"That man does not want an ornament." Éowyn lifted her eyes, and Idis continued. "He is a warrior, Éowyn. He lives by his sword, keeps it always at his side. Do you think he would take the sword out of  _your_  hand? A man like that needs a woman who will fight by his side, whether by the sword in times of war, or by her counsel in times of peace. My own father leaves you to rule in his stead, and you say that you are no queen."

"Kings do not marry shieldmaidens."

"My father did." There was a brief silence, during which Éowyn could not meet her cousin's eyes. "It is why he has always loved you as his own daughter," Idis continued in a soft voice that held no bitterness. "He sees Elfhild in you, and he misses the woman who fought at his side, who died yelling 'Death!' as she bore me, rather than as a shieldmaiden of Rohan. You are Elfhild brought back to life, Éowyn Elfsheen - not the disappointment who stole her life."

"Please do not speak so. He loves you."

"I know that he does. But I also know that he loves you more. Do not look so, dear cousin! I speak not out of bitterness, but from an honesty that brings me peace. Your future is in the White City of our ancestors."

"And what of the Golden Hall of our ancestors?"

"Here I shall remain with my father until he passes on and his throne goes to your brother."

"To you!" Éowyn protested.

"No, dearest, he will leave it to Éomer, and better that he does so." Idis smiled and raised her pitcher of wine. "Enough of this gravity. There are hearty soldiers who need more drink."

Éowyn nodded absently and followed Idis back into the crowd, her mind and heart heavy.

* * *

 

Aragorn had expected to be alone in the great stables of Edoras, and such had been his goal when he strode into them on the pretense of looking after his horse. The person he found there, however, was not unwelcome company. Her back was to him as she slid her hand over a saddled horse's neck, and her golden hair spilled past her waist, drifting off unrestrained in the breeze as he opened the door.

She turned quickly, and he heard the ring of steel. She faced him, sword drawn, with a fierce expression swiftly melting into a relieved smile. How young she was compared to him, with her face unlined and her eyes bright. Yet there was about her the air of someone who had seen much and understood still more.

"My lord," she said, lowering her sword and bowing her head in greeting. Her voice was strong and clear, and he found himself eager to hear it again.

"Lady Éowyn," he replied with a bow before approaching her. "What brings you here so late in the evening?"

"The same thing that brings you here," she smiled. "Quiet. Solitude."

Aragorn returned her smile. "Then it seems we each have disrupted the other's clever plan. My presence is not unwelcome, I hope?"

"No, no, of course not." She slid the sword back into its sheath and looked up again. "I just returned from riding, actually. This horse accompanies me in every battle, and has yet to fail me." Again she turned and brushed her fingers down the animal's neck, then moved to remove the saddle.

"They say that you are a shieldmaiden, a great warrior of Rohan," he said, watching her.

She did not turn. "They say that you are a king."

"I may never be a king if this tide of evil overpowers us," he answered her in a weary voice. "But you are and always will be a shieldmaiden, whatever else happens. And in that, as in so many other small things, do I find hope."

* * *

 

The morning brought departure, and around her Éowyn saw and heard the weeping of those in despair. She herself would not cry. The warriors should be surrounded by strength and sent off with hope. And so she held her head high as she bid farewell to her uncle and brother. The king touched her cheek, turned, and mounted his horse, leaving Aragorn to speak to her.

He smiled, and his grey eyes were fixed on hers with an intensity she could not match. "If I live, I will come, Lady Éowyn, and then maybe we will ride together."

Éowyn smiled and bent her head gravely. "Westu hal," she said, her heart leaping as he bent to kiss her hand. She watched the Rohirrim until they disappeared on the far horizon, following the men she loved most in the world - the three kings, keepers of her past and future.

* * *

 

**Note:**

(1) This was Galadriel's original message to Aragorn through Gandalf, and Tolkien meant it to refer to Éowyn Elfsheen, who stood in the shadow of Théoden's throne. Théoden wore a green stone on his forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

He would endure the passing of many days and the deaths of many good men before he saw her face again, yet these things his mind bore lightly in comparison to its most pressing concern. He knew what path lay before him, for his kinsmen had arrived with word of it. And now, as he led his company into the encampment at Dunharrow, the burden lay on him still more heavily. He looked up to see the mountain, but his eyes rested instead on the figure waiting to meet him. She stood silent and still, her eyes shining as they met his. He dismounted his horse and approached her, bowing his head in greeting.

"Hail, Lord Aragorn," she said.

"My Lady Éowyn."

After so many years of wandering through the lands of Middle-earth, unmoved by the sight of any woman or elf, he hardly knew what to feel now in the presence of this young shieldmaiden, with her suit of mail, braided hair, and stern face. Great beauty he had seen, certainly, in the lands of Lórien and Imladris - even in Rohan and Gondor, many years ago. The grace of the valar he had seen in the steps of many elves who passed him in the lands of the north. But her beauty was of a fierce, ungentle kind, and thus was able to strike his heart as none of the others could. Her grace was in the unstudied purpose of her step, the swing of her sword, the raising of her shield. Whatever doubts he might have had about her youth were wiped away when Théoden left her to watch over his kingdom.

She was a creature altogether unsuited to grace a palace, and for that reason, he wanted her more than any other. He himself was unsuited for the destiny that awaited him, for he preferred the wild lands of the north to any city street. His heart was that of a Ranger, whatever his ancestry and his duty dictated about his future. With this woman at his side, he would have something of the wildness and beauty of Eriador always with him. The Queen of Gondor, if no one else, would know and understand his heart, for it was hers as well.

These things he thought as he led the Grey Company to their meal, glancing sometimes to his right, where she walked in silence. The men were also quiet as they ate, though the food was hearty and filling. All of them felt and none of them spoke of the fear that would keep them awake tonight. And they raised their heads and looked at one another when Éowyn spoke.

"Where do you go from here, my lords?"

Aragorn lowered his wine and met her gaze. "We go into the haunted mountain," he replied. "There waits an army I intend to awaken and summon."

He did not know how long she watched him, for after a time, he glanced away and did not look at her again. It wasn't until later in the evening that she found him alone. Her chain mail was replaced now with a gown of white, and her hair fell freely about her shoulders.

"Why?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm. In her widened eyes, he saw anger and unshed tears, and he could not but be moved. "Why do you go willingly to your death when we need you? Why must you die at the hands of phantoms in their own prison, rather than the hands of orcs who even now march to burn your city?"

"Why do you abandon hope and assume that I go to die?"

She looked away. "I abandoned hope long ago, my lord."

"Éowyn..." He paused until her eyes were on his again. "Do you know what I am called in the fair dwellings of the elves? Lord Elrond gave me the name  _Estel_. I see in your face that you know the meaning, and so I ask you, Lady of Rohan, not to abandon hope."

"You forget that hope can be killed," she said bitterly, her voice betraying the helplessness and despair that had long been hers while her uncle faded away into Saruman's grasp.

"But not by ghosts in a mountain," he replied, reaching out to touch her face. He knew that his hand trembled as his fingertips met her skin. "I am Isildur's heir, and my life belongs to the people of Gondor - not to these cursed traitors." She breathed in deeply, but said nothing. He guided her hair behind her ear and lowered his hand. "They have no power over me, nor over those who go with me."

She lifted her chin, and suddenly her eyes were bright and determined. "If haunted shadows have no power over those who go with you, then count me among your company. Hope may choose to leave me, but I will chase it. Women must ride now, as they did in a like evil time."

"And what of your uncle? Your brother and cousin? Have you no concern for their wishes?"

"I was trained as a shieldmaiden, groomed by the very uncle and brother you speak of. Did they teach me for their own amusement? Did they waste their time training a warrior whom they intended to set in some household as an ornament? I count myself among the Rohirrim, Lord Aragorn, and so do they. Éomer does not wait for permission to ride with his Éored." She paused, then continued in a quieter voice. "Please do not refuse me, Aragorn. I have tasted enough despair."

He studied her face. "You say that you should not have to ask for permission to fight, and yet you ask for mine."

"I am a shieldmaiden of Rohan, and thus already deemed worthy to fight for Théoden. But I am not a Ranger of the North."

Aragorn smiled. "She who is worthy of Théoden is worthy of the Grey Company, daughter of Éomund. I did say that we would ride together if I returned, and so we shall, my lady, into the haunted mountain and then to Minas Tirith."

So it was that Idis, the king's daughter, saw nothing of her cousin that night, nor indeed the next morning when she looked out desperately and knowingly among the sea of riders cloaked and hooded in grey. She would have to tell Théoden that his only daughter now was the one born of his own body... the one who would ride with him to the Pelennor fields.


	3. Chapter 3

It was his mother's voice, admonishing but warm, and it came from behind him, along with the soft sound of dead leaves brushing and scratching and crushing in her path. He turned to look at her, but he kept his hands cupped over the ground. She said it again. "Estel." She knelt beside him and laid one hand over his unruly hair. "What have you caught?"

Leaning against her, he slowly raised his hands and parted them a little, revealing the small, white bird in his palm. "I want to keep it," he breathed. "It will be mine, and I will take care of it."

His mother was quiet for a long time, and together they watched as the bird moved in his hands, its claws little pinpricks on his skin, its feathers tickling his fingers. It chirped and looked up at him. He wanted to build a large and beautiful cage for it, where it would always be safe, and where everyone could see it.

"You should let it go," she whispered. "This is not a tame bird, my love. It doesn't like being kept from the wild."

He could never let it go! He wouldn't. "No," he said.

"If you were wild, and you loved flying around the trees and going wherever you want, wouldn't you be unhappy if someone caught you and put you where you could never fly again?"

"I would be happy if they gave me food and kept me safe."

"Would you be happy if I locked you in your room forever? If I gave you lots of food to eat every day and placed people all around to guard you and protect you?"

He felt her fingers brush his cheek, then slide down to his shoulder, pulling him a little closer. He stared at the bird and thought of all the things that could hurt it and kill it. He thought of how pretty it would look in his room. But he opened his hands, raised his arms, and watched it fly away.

_And if his duty calls him out of the wild and into a cage, Mother? What then?_

* * *

 

The Lady of Rohan rode beside him, her grey hood pulled low over her head so that only a few gold strands spilled out from beneath it. Her hands, the only hint that she was a woman, were slender and pale against the dark and toughened leather of the reins she held. She rode to face death with her back straight and her chin lifted.

"Who trained you?" he asked.

She turned to him, and her grey eyes shone underneath the hood, lit also by her wide smile. "My brother," she replied. "And Idis, who is also a shieldmaiden."

Aragorn allowed his mind to wander briefly to the king's daughter, silent and proud, an heiress who would never sit on a throne. She had seemed to him like someone who was once happy, until each year placed a new line on her face. He had thought her beautiful nevertheless, and he wondered why Théoden paid her little regard. But then, who could see Idis when Éowyn stood beside her? Éowyn, shining in youthful strength and courage, left nothing but shadows for anyone else.

"But Idis never wanted what my uncle had hoped to give her," Éowyn continued in a soft voice, as if she could read his thoughts. "And that was a throne. She loves Rohan, but she has never wanted to rule it. She loves training in the use of weapons, but she doesn't like to use them. He had hoped to raise a powerful queen."

 _And he did_ , Aragorn thought. "Would you have liked to be a queen?"

"My uncle's vision of a queen," she replied. "Free and fierce, honored and loved. If I commanded an army, I would send them to the ends of earth, pushing back that darkness in the east. I fear you will think me coarse, my lord, but I long for the power to free my people." She paused. "Since you came to us, I feel that we have it. Riding in your company, I feel that the darkness flees before me. You have put a sword in my hand and vengeance in my heart."

Aragorn stared ahead gravely. From his time under the command of Thengel, he knew quite well of the Rohirrim and their passion for shedding the blood of enemies, but he was not prepared to meet with such bloodlust in a young woman of the court.  _Ferocity you wanted_ , he tried to remind himself.  _With every brushing of the soft feathers on your fingers, the claws will prick your palm._  He hadn't realized how long he'd been silent until she spoke again.

Her laugh was short and amused, with no hint of bitterness. "You disapprove of me. Women are not so gentle here in the southern lands."

"Disapprove?" he repeated, turning to her and finding that she was already looking at him. "You ride to battle against the powers of Sauron, and you think I disapprove of you? I do not crave war as you do, Éowyn, but since my duty is to enter it, my heart is strengthened to have you at my side."  _Always._

Freedom and honor and love she sought; he wondered if she saw all three in his eyes at that moment, or if she had looked away too soon. In the two sparks of shining grey beneath her hood, he saw the eyes of a small bird looking up at him through his cupped hands. He was not keeping her there, trapped; she was riding to whatever fate would be decided for her. Looking at her now, though, he almost laughed at the idea of someone deciding anything for her - whether man or Fate.

"Then we find strength and will in each other." She turned and smiled. "When you raise your sword, mine shall be beside it."

"I for Gondor, and you for Rohan," he replied, returning her smile. She reminded him of Lúthien, who escaped from her cage and took a sword in her hand to decide her own fate. Tinúviel, who stood up against Sauron and the very law of Ilúvatar for mortal men, doomed to die. And yet not like Tinúviel, for Éowyn was beautifully human, in all her passion and violence.

_I have wished thee joy ever since first I saw thee._

* * *

 

Idis had told her that Aragorn wanted no ornament to grace the halls of Minas Tirith. Éowyn believed it now, her spirit singing at the prospect of fighting beside him, then enjoying the fruits of a new world they would win together. He needed her sword, and she needed his peace.

It was when they stopped for food and rest in the early afternoon, beside the shimmering flanks of her horse, that he approached her, pushed her hood back from her face, and kissed her. Her fingers groped for the saddle, anything to hold on to, but then she found that she needed nothing, because he was holding her up. He kissed her with the power she craved and the gentleness that made her yield to it.

"Éowyn," he whispered. He drew back slightly and touched her face, and she closed her eyes, leaning in to him. "Will you go back?"

Her eyes opened, and she felt hardly conscious as she took a step back. All that had begun to warm inside her now hardened into bitter frost. "What?"

"To Rohan," he said. She saw confusion in his eyes, and it made her all the angrier. "When this battle is done... will you go back to Rohan?"

She walked back into his arms, laughing for no reason, and for every reason. She was being held tightly, possessively - and for the first time, it felt like freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

Aragorn should have known before he asked that she would not be going back to Rohan when this war ended. Her place was in Minas Tirith, at his side. He looked away from her, and she followed his gaze down the short, flickering tunnel of light into the darkness that lay ahead.

"We are close now to the chamber," Aragorn mused quietly.

In his voice she heard all the things that weighed also on her mind - the stories of Baldor and the terrible legends that found their origin in the darkness of Dimholt and the White Mountains. As a child in Rohan, she had heard them all. Stolen children, demons of Morgoth, families killed violently in their beds. She remembered well the dire warnings given to ensure that she and Éomer came inside before dark. She wondered what the old wives of the South would think if they knew that Isildur's heir and Théoden's niece had kissed in the Cursed Mountain.

She marveled at the paradox of riding to death with the person who had made her love life. But no, she did not ride to death. Death was behind her, in the isolation of Edoras, in the blank eyes of her bewitched uncle, in Wormtongue's poisonous voice. Death was her place in the shadow of the dark throne. Death was helplessness and despair, not this power and hope that had been blossoming inside her since Aragorn walked into the Golden Hall.

_Is it the power and hope that you love, or is it Aragorn?_

Éowyn blinked and shivered in his arms. He turned to her again and touched her face. "It is not my Fate, nor yours, to die here today." His voice was low, his eyes concerned.

"I know," Éowyn answered him. Why shouldn't she love him for his power, his courage, his kindness, and his hope? What better reasons to love a man? She loved Aragorn, the Ranger and the King. She smiled.

He stepped back from her, hands sliding down her arms to clasp her hands. In his eyes she saw both gravity and joy. She knew they had only stopped for about five minutes, but it felt like ages of the earth. Aragorn must feel the same, for he bowed to her and walked away in haste. She watched him as he called the men to ride again; she listened to the authority in his voice. She heard also the sound of Legolas singing to Arod. How could any of these men or beasts fear, knowing that the King led them? Fear was an enemy that seemed forever banished from her heart.

_I go because I would not be parted from thee... because I love thee._

* * *

 

No one back in the Shire would believe that young Meriadoc had fought in a large battle for Minas Tirith, yet here he was, fighting with a fury and skill he never knew he possessed, slaying every orc that came within the small but deadly reach of his sword. "I will take him with me," the king's daughter had said firmly when the Rohirrim galloped out of Dunharrow, and so he had ridden into battle with the Princess of Rohan, beside the King and the Marshal of the Riddermark. No one would believe that, no matter what scars he brought home as proof. The princess Idis fought beside him now, and not even the clamor of battle could overcome her angry shouts.

Merry noticed, therefore, when her voice was silenced. He whirled around, searching for her in the dizzying rush of friends and foes around him. "Lady Idis!" he called out.

At last he saw her, some distance away. She was watching, still as death, as one of the Black Riders urged its winged mount toward her father, now fallen beneath his horse. It was only a moment before her mouth opened in an angry, grievous cry, and she ran to face the creature.  _No!_  thought Merry, even as he ran to join her. He would help her if he could, even against this Nazgûl. Such was the fury of Idis that she had killed the beast before Merry arrived at her side.

The Black Rider raised its mace above her, but Merry was there for her now. He stabbed his small dagger into the Nazgul's leg, falling back as sharp pain shot up his arms. With an ear-splitting shriek, the Nazgûl swung at Idis, and Merry heard the blow strike her. Clutching her stomach, she fell beside her father. Merry watched with one eye as the Black Rider strode away, apparently thinking a wounded woman and hobbit beneath his notice.

"Idis," he gasped, crawling toward her and the king. But he stopped when he heard Théoden speaking to her in a voice that was barely audible. Idis was crying, and Merry saw blood seeping between the fingers she held over her stomach. With her free hand, she touched her father's face.

"Father," she wept softly, "now you see why I have always hated the sword! See what it takes from me!"

Théoden's hand rose slowly, and Merry turned to see that he was pointing at the city. "But that is what it will win back for you," he breathed.

"I'm sorry, Father," said Idis. The hand on her stomach was red now. "I know you have always loved Éowyn as your own daughter, but..."

"Idis." Merry watched as Théoden clasped his daughter's free hand. "To say that I love Éowyn as much as my own daughter... is to say how much I love my own daughter."

Idis wept more freely now, but only for a moment. She soon lost consciousness and fell limply to the bloody grass.

It was with a heavy and sorrowful heart that Merry observed the arrival and grief of Éomer, made bittersweet by the fact that he was now a king. He watched as Théoden and Idis were lifted and carried away toward the city, and he finally laid himself down on the ground, hardly caring if he were trampled. He saw nothing but darkness. He did not know that Imrahil of Dol Amroth had seen Idis and pronounced her "living, but sorely in need of care," nor did he know that black ships were close to the city now, bringing with them light and hope.


	5. Chapter 5

Many years had passed since Aragorn last saw his city, but now the river took him there. The White Tower scratched the surface of the darkened sky, and smoke seemed to rise up from the ground, obscuring much of the battle. All this he observed from the black ship that carried him, and his heart grieved for the people of Minas Tirith. Legolas and Gimli were silent sentinels behind him, and at his side stood Éowyn, her eyes cold as steel, her gold hair carried into the wind as if it were a banner for the king's arrival. In her hands she held her sword and shield, the banners for her own arrival: she, the city's future queen. Éomer, it seemed, recognized the shieldmaiden's standard. Aragorn could see him now in the distance; he could hear the joyous outcry of the Rohirrim at their arrival.

Éomer was the first to greet them when the ship landed. "My friend!" he exclaimed. His eyes fell on Éowyn, and he smiled at his sister before turning back to Aragorn. "My dear brother. We thought all of you were lost, and this is an unexpected joy."

"Where is the king?" Éowyn asked, her eyes searching for her uncle.

Éomer's grief now was apparent. "I am he," he replied. "Théoden has fallen, Éowyn, and his last words were spoken to me. And Idis, too, is dead. As you can see, the battle goes ill for us."

"Now it shall go ill for the armies of Sauron," said Aragorn, clasping Éomer's arm tightly. "Come, my brothers and my kinsmen... my lady of Rohan. Together we will grieve and rejoice, but not until this battle is won."

They drew their swords - soldiers and grey-hooded rangers alike - and charged into the battle with vengeful fury, their eyes on the city which would not be taken while they still lived. Aragorn slayed every orc that stood in his path, every dark creature that blocked the White Tower from his view. But there was one dark creature he could not slay, and this he knew even as it approached him. The Nazgûl walked with a slight limp, but otherwise seemed full of anger and strength. They faced each other, king of the Dead City and heir of the White City. Death had not been the fate he expected this day, and Aragorn raised his sword against it.

"Foolish mortal," taunted the Witch King. "Do you not know who I am? I am he who cannot be killed by the hands of men."

"Then by the hand of a woman shall you die," a voice cried out. Aragorn turned quickly to see Éowyn running between himself and the Nazgûl. Now she stood with her back to him, her hair whipping around her as she raised her shield. "I am of the house of Eorl, and by his honor, you will not walk away from me alive!"

The Witch King hesitated, then came forward, laughing. He raised his mace to kill her, but Éowyn's sword was swift and sure. Its shining blade disappeared into the darkness of his helmet, then Nazgûl and shieldmaiden fell to the ground. Her hair spilled out over his black remains, Aragorn's banner.

He ran to her, lifting her away from the Nazgûl and into his arms. Her body was slender and limp, with no marks or wounds that he could see. But he knew that the worst wound of the Nazgûl is invisible, and that the Witch King's black breath had turned Éowyn's blood into poison, her spirit into dust. "Is my queen the first price I must pay for my kingdom? The White Lady for the White City?" he asked her pale face. He thought of Galadriel's message to him, and asked her bitterly, "This, then, is the fate that has long awaited me?"

Aragorn held her until the men came to take her into the city, where she would be honored with all the dead. Fey was Aragorn then, silent as Éowyn was carried away from him. He saw nothing but his enemies, heard nothing but their cries as he ran his sword through them, felt nothing but the warm blood on his hands.  _The victory will taste like gall instead of wine._

* * *

 

Éomer leaned over his sister, almost afraid to touch her tangled hair with his rough fingers. "Éowyn," he whispered to her. "You never obeyed me - why should you obey death?" He smiled a little, finally allowing himself to touch her cheek. She remained cold and still. "Until this day, I never regretted teaching you how to fight."

He heard the soft scratch of wood on wood as someone turned the door's latch, but he didn't turn around. Moments later, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Éomer," said Gandalf's low voice, "I have brought the one who can heal her."

Éomer turned now to see Aragorn standing still in the doorway, a hood pulled low over his face. At last, he came closer to the bed and drew back the hood with one hand, reaching for Éowyn's hand with the other. In the ranger's grey eyes, Éomer recognized what he himself felt, though in a different form - love. He glanced down in time to see Aragorn's thumb sweep gently over Éowyn's hand before letting it rest again on the coverlet.

"More athelas, Gandalf," he said quietly, taking the leaves when the wizard held them out. Aragorn crushed them together and set them in a bowl of hot water beside Éowyn's bed. Tiny wisps of steam rose up, and to Éomer it smelled almost as sweet as the relief that flooded into him when he learned that his sister was still alive. Aragorn dipped a cloth into the water, swirled it around a bit, then pressed it to Éowyn's forehead. "Éowyn," he said softly. "Shieldmaiden of Rohan, I bid you to leave your enemy's shadow. I bid you to awaken and return to those who love you." He touched her cheek with his fingers, and her lips parted as she breathed. The white coverlet rose and fell, and a pair of eyes opened and looked up at Aragorn.

To Éomer it was more welcome than the day's victory, and he clasped her hand and pressed it to his heart. "Éowyn!" he exclaimed. "Now this day's sorrows have melted away."

Her mouth curved into a smile when she turned her gaze to him. "What joy is this, Éomer!" she said, her voice somewhat weak. "I fell asleep in darkness and woke to more happiness than I have ever known. Our battle is won... my brother lives..." She looked once again at Aragorn. "Lord Aragorn lives."

" _You_  live," said Aragorn. "And when Gandalf told me of it, I felt as if I too had awakened from some pressing darkness."

Éomer glanced at Gandalf, whose eyes were already upon him and saying the same thing he was thinking: that they were no longer wanted here. He leaned to kiss Éowyn's forehead, then put her hand into Aragorn's. "Forgive me, Éowyn, but I must call together my marshals for a meeting."

She smiled at him again. "Éomer... seeing you here safe, I feel as though I could never be unhappy again. Good night."

With one look back at his sister and Aragorn, Éomer felt a sense of peace that seemed almost ridiculous in light of what they must soon face. The war was not over, but now he felt that losing would be impossible. In the company of the king - in the company of his brother - victory was certain. He left the room, with Gandalf following close behind him.

* * *

 

Éowyn sighed softly as Aragorn's lips found hers. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him to her and returning his kiss with all the strength that was returning into her body. In her dreams, he had been killed, and so had Éomer. The dreams seemed real, and she knew that she never wanted to wake up. She wanted only to succumb to the darkness that was trying to envelope her. But then she had faintly heard Éomer's voice speaking her name, and soon after Aragorn's, and she wanted nothing more than to wake up. She pushed the darkness away from her and opened her eyes to the sweetness of what was real.

And now this was real, the lightly pressing weight of Aragorn as he leaned over her, his fingers clasped tightly in hers, his mouth both hungry and patient. When he drew back a little, she stared up into his eyes and knew that tears were on her cheeks. "I thought you were dead," he said quietly. "And when I learned the truth from Gandalf..."

"You woke up," she finished.

He smiled. "Yes, I woke up."

"You were dead in my dreams," she said. "You and my brother. But then... your voice called me out of that darkness. Aragorn-" She stopped suddenly, uncertain if she should continue. But there was no need, for he said it for her.

"I love you."

Before she could reply, the door opened and she heard Gandalf's urgent voice. "Aragorn, come quickly. Idis is still alive."


	6. Chapter 6

Aragorn was on his feet and out of the room before Éowyn's injured body could respond to her mind's jubilant demands: "Sit up! Stand! Go to Idis!" She raised herself on one arm, wincing at the pain that shot through her. But it did not matter. Pulling the light coverlet around her shoulders for warmth against the chilly evening air, she crossed the room and looked out of her door. There was no question about where her cousin lay, for a small crowd had gathered outside the room - including the healers who should have protested against Lady Éowyn's walking barefoot out of her room. As it was, she met with no opposition until she pushed her way through the crowd and into Idis' doorway.

"Éowyn!" exclaimed her brother, with angry glances at the crowd. "Go back to your bed at once! You are in no condition to walk about as you please!" As he spoke, he laid his hands on her shoulders and made to escort her away, but Éowyn gently resisted.

"Please," she pleaded, "I just want to see Idis, and then I'll go back willingly."

Éomer's face softened, and in that unguarded moment, she was able to see for the first time the grief and anxiety that he had masked over the last weeks. He had stayed in a dungeon, twice battled an undefeatable army, lost his uncle - a father by any standard - lost his sister and cousin only to have both with him again, and inherited a kingdom. Nor was this time of darkness and upheaval yet ended. She wanted to have time to talk with him as they had once done; she wanted to hear about her uncle's last words. But she knew there would be no time before the great battles that loomed ahead, an encroaching doom. There would be a farewell between them and nothing more.

"I don't want any harm to come to you," he said quietly. He removed his heavy cloak and draped it around her, holding it tightly until she took it with her own hand, then he stepped aside to give her access to the bed.

Aragorn hovered over the bed, whispering something Éowyn could not make out. On the other side stood Gandalf, looking grave and weary. And between them lay Idis, her face drained of all its usual color. For a moment, Éowyn thought her cousin was dead, so slightly did the bedclothes rise and fall with her shallow breaths. She stepped forward, ignoring Aragorn's exclamation at her presence there, and lifted the coverlet. Idis' skin was whiter than the bandages wrapped over her stomach. Éowyn steeled herself and carefully raised one of them, her heart sinking at the wound she saw.

"Is there no more athelas?" she asked. She had not been trained in the art of healing for nothing, and she would not allow her cousin to die here. "At least they had the common sense not to bleed you," she muttered bitterly.

"Very little," Aragorn replied. If he was surprised at her knowledge, he said nothing. "What I had, I put on her wound. But Éowyn..." He lowered his voice, and she turned to him worriedly. "Her wound and her loss of blood are not what concern us. From that, I believe she will recover. She suffers from the same evil blade that struck you, but her spirit lies in darkness." He met her eyes. "She has not the desire for life that saved you, and I have not been able to call her back."

Éowyn swallowed the tears that stung her eyes, lowering the coverlet and reaching for her cousin's hand. "Idis," she whispered, "if for nothing else, come back for me." In losing Idis, she would lose her dearest friend, her teacher, and the only mother she could remember well. Rohan would lose its princess, and Idis would not be there to see, at last, how much they loved her.

A sweet smell filled her senses, and she glanced aside with blurry vision to see that Aragorn had crushed the last of the athelas. He placed the steaming bowl as close to Idis as he could, then wrapped his arm around Éowyn's shoulders, which shivered in spite of her coverlet and Éomer's cloak. "Love," he murmured, and Éowyn's heart filled with a renewed hope that he must have intended, "call her back."

With a small nod, Éowyn straightened and clasped Idis' hand even more tightly. "Idis, daughter of Théoden, forsake this darkness and awaken into the light of those who would ease your sorrow. Elessar summons you, and Elfsheen entreats you." By the sudden chill of the air on her cheek, Éowyn knew that her tears had escaped. She sank down beside the bed, feeling all the pain of the Nazgûl's blade as if it stabbed through her again.

Aragorn dipped his fingers into the water and laid them on Idis' forehead. "Awake, Idis, shieldmaiden of the Riddermark!"

At the feel of Idis' fingers moving in hers, Éowyn looked up to see a pair of light eyes watching her from the pallid face. From behind her, Éomer gave a short exclamation of happiness, then moved in a rush of robes and chain mail to lean over Éowyn and take Idis' hand. Idis opened her mouth to speak, and everyone became quiet.

"My father...?"

Éowyn bowed her head as Éomer answered the question. "He has gone to join our fathers."

Idis nodded slightly, then closed her eyes again.

"Let her rest," Aragorn advised. With gentle hands, he lifted Éowyn to her feet and guided her away. Éowyn looked back to see Éomer drawing a chair beside Idis, then she passed out of the room with Aragorn. "I didn't even notice that your feet were bare," Aragorn remarked with a soft laugh. Éowyn made no reply, but leaned against him until they entered her room and reached her bed. He removed Éomer's robe from her and draped it over his arm, then took the coverlet from her shoulders and held it while she settled herself again in bed. Then he draped it over her, along with her brother's robe.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked. She flushed, suddenly realizing what she had asked. "Éomer is with my cousin, and..."

Aragorn traced the edge of her face with his fingers. "I'll stay."

She studied him as he sat beside her, noticed the few strands of gray in his dark hair. She felt young, like something he could scarcely notice. Aragorn Elessar, with all his ancient lineage and wisdom, all his years in Middle-earth. "Why do you love me?" She hadn't meant to ask it; her voice had somehow spoken her thoughts. "I must be like a child in your eyes."

He laughed. "Do you think me so old?"

"No... I think I am very young."

"So you are, Éowyn. And yes, I have wandered this world for many years."

Éowyn felt the exhaustion slowing her mind, but she fought against it. "And yet," she mused, "you will live to see me grow old and die." There was a long silence, and she raised her eyes to meet his. "Won't you?"

"Yes."

Perhaps it was the pain and loss of the day's battle, perhaps her body's fatigue, but she felt a crushing weight of sadness. When she reached his age, her hair would be white as the simbelmynë in Rohan, her face lined, her arms no longer able to wield a sword. But Aragorn would look just as he did now, as if he possessed the ageless grace of the elves. "How can I ever be right for you, if I am too young and then too old?"

"You are not too young, and you will never be too old." She knew that he saw the uncertainty lingering in her eyes, for he leaned closer. "Éowyn, yes, you are young, but does that weaken your understanding or take away from your spirit? And when you are old, what do you think I will see in your face but the memories of happy years spent with you?" He paused. "A lined face and a life lived all the more passionately because of its brevity. That is the sweetness of mortality, Elfsheen. In these dark times, it is my hope that I will someday see you grow old."

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the bed heavily, weightlessly. "Death, death," said her mind in endless refrain, and to her it was as the cry of the Rohirrim: a shout of defiance, a call to fight.


	7. Chapter 7

From his high place on the terrace, Aragorn looked down over the city and out onto the fields where they had fought the previous day. People of the city now wandered slowly through the bodies of men and orcs, searching for loved ones. Others worked to clear the field, burying the bodies as carefully as could be expected in mass graves. The men of the Grey Company had already given up searching for their own, and even now, his lost kinsman Halbarad lay somewhere on the trampled grass. Aragorn closed his eyes and wondered how any man could hope to rule this broken city. He wondered if anyone would ever rule this city again. Not an hour ago, he had agreed to march against the Black Gate of Mordor. And who would bury the men of the West when the battle ended and the plains lay deserted and silent?  _The victory will be ours_ , he told himself,  _whether we live to see it or not._

And Éowyn. How could he tell her that he planned once more to go to his death?

As if summoned by his will, she stepped up beside him. The wind carried her loosened hair around them both like an ephemeral shield, and she laid her hand over his on the cool stone. "When do you go?" she asked simply.

He didn't ask how she knew. He didn't ask why she had left her bed. He didn't ask why she wore rough leather and stared at the battlefield with a resolve he could not -- would not -- challenge. "As soon as we have mustered the men. Perhaps in two days' time."

Slim fingers slid through his. "And who will muster the women? Who ever musters them to stand in the streets and bid farewell to those they will never see again? Who musters the children they leave behind?" She sighed, then added with a smile in her voice, "I sound like Idis."

"Will you not stay here?" he asked, already knowing that his question was pointless.

Her silence spoke her answer; her slight turn and the fingers on his cheek spoke her apology. "Aragorn," she said quietly. He met her eyes and was surprised to see contentment in them. "There was a time when I wished to die in battle because I had no hope. By the sword I hoped to achieve my own relief. Do you not see... I am sure you must understand... that now I want to fight because hope burns in my heart? I am lost forever to cold despair. I cannot stay here and wait for the world to end. I... I cannot stay here and wish for a victory purchased by others. The victory must belong partly to me." She smiled. "It is your own doing, this hope. This victory, whatever happens on the battlefield, is yours."

"A victory over a country I do not wish to conquer," he murmured, leaning close to her. He felt her breath warm on his skin and realized that it was impossible to overcome this woman.

She breathed in shakily and replied in a whisper, "Occupy it, then, if you will not conquer."

Aragorn covered her mouth with his, pouring into her all the despair and hope that battled for his will. There could be no foreign occupation in this slender body, whatever she might say. There was no room for any thoughts but her own, no place for refusals when she had determined a "yes," no room for convincing when her will was entirely her own. Her mouth tasted of whatever medicine the healers were giving her, something bittersweet. His lips curved in a smile as he kissed her, and he felt her laughing against him when strands of her windblown hair found their way into his mouth.

He drew away and watched her laugh as she tucked her hair behind her ears in vain. Then her eyes found his and fixed on them. "Aragorn?" she said quietly.

"Fight beside me." He meant the battle, but he realized it was also a confession of need, a request to keep her always near him.

She leaned into him again and kissed him, sliding her fingers to the nape of his neck. "Beside you," she answered, "with you, for you."

"I want to marry you," he said. Éowyn's lips paused next to his, and she raised her eyes. He touched her hair, tracing the line of her face. "When the battle is won, when we return to the city. Will you?"

Éowyn smiled. "Yes, before these unmoving stones, I promise to be your wife."

Aragorn stared out over the Pelennor fields, then said, "Let them be our witnesses -- those who died and will never see the world we win back, and those who bury them, wondering what purpose their deaths have served."

He returned his gaze to her and kissed her again, holding her hair loosely in the hand that rested on her back. With his other hand he gripped her waist, holding her body to his, drinking in enough passion and life to awaken all the fallen on the Pelennor. Shieldmaiden, wild creature, with soft sighs in her throat, the strong, sword-roughened hand on his cheek, the shock of cool stone on the back of his hand as they met the wall. Éowyn drew back a little and looked up at him with darkened eyes.

"The destruction of the Ring  _will_  be accomplished," Aragorn mused. "And the fair lands of the Eldar will fade away. What in this world will remain eternal when they are gone? There will be no holding onto the beauty of youth, no keepers of wisdom who have learned and studied for thousands of years."

"It will only make everything more precious," said Éowyn softly. "You said before that you would not mind when my face ages, because it will bear the marks of the life I lived. The world will be the same, and all the people in it. We all will wear the joy and tragedy of time, and there will be no stagnation for us. I could not bear to live forever - what a curse it is, and a curse borne as a blessing by those who sit in their gardens and watch the aging of the world around them. They are like stones in a river."

She leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder, and he let his fingers glide slowly through her hair. Moving, shifting gold, threading through time. "Are you tired?" he murmured.

"Yes," she said against the cloth of his robe. "And I know I must save my strength for the battle."

She leaned against the wall and covered a yawn with the back of her hand, and Aragorn smiled. He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly in his, fingers interlocked, and walked her slowly back to her room in the Houses of Healing. As they walked, he realized that if they died before the Black Gate, they would never... He banished the thought quickly from his mind.

They stopped just inside the door of Éowyn's room, and she pressed her lips lightly to his. "I know what troubles you," she said, not meeting his eyes. "And I think... that is... Aragorn, you were raised by the Elves, and I grew up among the Rohirrim, for whom a betrothal is as solemn a vow as marriage, and it is our custom to..." By now, her usually pale cheeks were scarlet, and despite his wish to spare her, he also wanted to hear it from her. She seemed to know this. Her grey eyes were bright as she lifted them to his and closed the door behind them, locking it with a soft click. "What -- What I mean to say is, I consider myself your wife, and I consider my bed... yours."

* * *

 

Idis had fetched as many books as she could carry with one arm, while the other leaned on the walking stick provided her by Ioreth. A few of the volumes she had picked with Éowyn in mind, but Éowyn's room was closed, and Idis knew that her cousin was resting for the battle she was sure to join. Idis herself had no desire to charge into battle again, especially not with the memory of her father's pained face and the sharp ache in her stomach.  _Frankly no good for anything now_ , she thought wryly, smiling in spite of herself.

One room was open, however, and she stepped into it, knocking on the doorframe. Ioreth had told her of Lord Faramir, and all he had suffered in the last days, and Idis herself knew Faramir from several visits to Minas Tirith with her father.

He was sitting up in bed with a book, but at the sound of her knock, he turned and smiled. "Lady Idis," he greeted her warmly. He glanced at the books in her arms, and started to leave his bed. "Do you need help with those? Here, let me..."

"No, no, please," she said. She set them down on the small table at his bedside. "May I?" she asked, motioning to the chair beside him.

"Please, do. A man in these Houses soon grows weary of listening to his own thoughts."

"Relieved only occasionally by the grim conversation of the Healers," she replied as she lowered herself gratefully into the chair.

Faramir laughed. "Yes, exactly." Without marking his place, he closed his book and set it on the table. "Yet the Healers do tell exciting stories about deeds on the battlefield. I know, therefore, what brings you to this place." His expression grew serious. "I am sorry about your father."

"And I am sorry about yours," she replied quietly.

When Idis left Faramir an hour later, several of her books remained on his bedside table, and some of his found their way into her arms. She left him with a smile, and Ioreth had much to say later to her friends on the subject of Lord Faramir and Lady Idis finding each other.

* * *

 

_I did write a "bonus" scene that's rated **Mature.** Here it is. It takes off where Aragorn and Éowyn go into her room._

He needed to hear nothing more. With light fingers, he touched the side of her neck and drew her closer. Under his fingertips, he felt the tiny bumps rising on her skin as his mouth hovered next to hers. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then allowed his lips to wander to her jawline, kissing his way to the warm pulse of her neck. "Éowyn," he said in a low voice next to her ear, "are you sure?"

Her slender fingers slid over the nape of his neck, and he felt her shiver. Then she leaned back a little to meet his gaze. There was a flush in her cheeks, but much more fire in her eyes. "Yes."

He covered her mouth in a hungry, insistent kiss, guiding her carefully backwards to her small bed. They stopped beside it, and Éowyn looked up at him expectantly, her lips slightly parted. Then she gave him a nervous smile, sat on the bed, and began removing her shoes. Aragorn welcomed this moment of lightness and followed her example, pushing his battered boots under the chair where he'd taken his seat across from her.

That done, they locked gazes again. "Do you want to change, or would you like me to...?" He felt somewhat foolish, but this seemed to him preferable to being insensitive to her in some way.

Without a word, she stood and faced him. She reached for his hand and guided it to the rough leather lacing of her warrior's tunic. In her eyes, he saw something of fear, but altogether her expression was curious -- eager. He loosened the garment, then slowly pushed it past her shoulders.

Her skin was whiter than simbelmynë, but not flawless like the porcelain faces and arms he'd seen on elven women. He forced himself to meet her eyes, despite his desire to stare at the small, lovely curves only inches away from his mouth. The red heat in her face had spread to her neck and the long, delicate line of her collarbone. He rested his hands on her slight waist, sliding one around her to cradle the arch of her lower back. She shook a little, and he looked up at her again, surprised to see that she was suppressing laughter.

"That tickles a little," she explained sheepishly.

Aragorn smiled as he pulled her closer. All uncertainty aside, he brushed his mouth over the skin between her breasts, his heart pounding at her sharp gasp. She was leaning into him now, partly supported by his knees on either side of her. He feathered his lips to the curve of one breast and took the pink center of it between his lips. Her heart pounded furiously under his mouth, and her hands were in his hair, holding him to her.

Aragorn drew away a little so that he could stand, and Éowyn made a soft sound of protest. He kissed her lips, longing for the wild flavor of her, humming into her mouth with pleasure when he realized that she was trying to remove his own tunic. He helped her unfasten it, then raised his arms so that she could pull it over his head. She dropped it carelessly on the floor, and then her hands were on him, palms moving, fingers curling, feathering, exploring. She pressed closer to him and kissed her way over one of his shoulders, then looked up and found his eyes.

Biting her lower lip, she stepped back and sat again on the bed, then offered her hand to him. He joined her, lowering her down against the two thin pillows on her bed. Her hair, still tangled from the wind on the terrace, spilled in unkempt strands around her head, and Aragorn stared down at her. She smiled, as if giving him permission to continue, and he gently removed the rest of her warrior's garb, restraining a laugh at the dagger that hung from her belt. She lay still as he undressed her and then himself, watching him with a kind of curious fascination.

And then he moved over her again, tracing her collarbone with his lips and tongue. Éowyn held onto him, and Aragorn was unable to restrain a moan when she raised one of her knees to allow his body closer access to hers. Her body was thin and muscled, as he would have expected in a shieldmaiden. What others might find unfeminine in her, he revelled in. Here was strength and the subtle, deadly grace of a warrior.

"Aragorn?"

"Mmm?" he asked, tracing his lips over the white, raised outline of an old scar.

"Do you mind if I... Would you let me touch you?"

He was on the verge of reminding her that she had been touching him quite a lot already, when he realized what she meant. He raised his head and looked down at her. "I am yours, Éowyn," he said quietly.

Keeping her eyes on his, she slid her hand down his chest, hesitated for a moment near his navel, and then lowered her hand further, grazing his sensitive skin with her fingers. Aragorn leaned forward on his elbows, pressing his face to her neck, and he could feel his heart thundering against hers. She touched him as though she were sliding her fingers over the edge of a new sword -- tentatively, but with a confident determination. "Is this right?" she murmured.

"It's a bit too right," he managed to exhale against her skin. He reached down and guided her hand up again. He was about to explain, but she seemed to understand. Instead, he kissed his way down her chest and stomach, caressing her waist and hips with his hands. Éowyn moaned and arched her body towards his touch as he returned to her lips, kissing her hungrily. As he kissed her, he slid his hand down to her thigh, feathering his fingers slowly to the softest part of her.

Her head fell back on the pillow, and Aragorn kissed the arch of her neck as his fingers moved. "Aragorn," she gasped. "Please..."

With the feel of her body beneath him, and the sight of her pleasure at his touch, his restraint was failing quickly. He forced himself to forget everything else but her; forced himself to remember that her pleasure, this time, must come before his. He kissed her mouth and neck, took her earlobe into his mouth, whispered to her, coaxed her to surrender -- a concept surely unknown to her.

But surrender she did, crying out as her body fell back to the bed. Her chest heaved, and the fine hair that lined her face was dark with perspiration. She draped a limp arm around his neck, holding him to her as she kissed him. "Make me yours," she said softly, touching his cheek. He rested on his elbows and returned her kiss as he positioned himself over her. She seemed to sense his hesitation. "Swift and sure, love. As a shieldmaiden of Rohan, I would have it no other way."

Her smile was bright and loving, and Aragorn returned it. He did as she said, swallowing her surprised gasp of pain with a tender kiss. "I love you, Éowyn," he breathed, smoothing the hair back from her face. She nodded wordlessly and watched him as he moved over her. Uncertainly at first, she began to move with him, soon finding his rhythm and matching it.

He hardly knew what he was saying to her; he only knew that here, in her arms, he would always find the wild beauty of the northern woods. Her scarred skin, warrior's angles, and fierce eyes were more beautiful to him than any elegant elf maiden he had known. _Occupy this land_ , she had said, and so he did, making it his, giving himself to it like a Ranger taking shelter during a storm. Only she was the storm, and he wanted no shelter from the force of her. It was not long before he felt her inside him and all around him, taking him just as he had taken her. There was no surrender for this woman unless surrender could be exacted in return, and so he gave in to her, lowering himself beside her as the world continued spinning.

Her tangled hair fell in a curtain around him as she leaned over him and kissed him. With a small sigh of contentment, she rested her head on his shoulder and draped her arm over his chest. "Not quite the rest I had in mind," she said softly. Aragorn smiled and held her closer, closing his heavy eyelids. "And yet, I feel all the more eager for battle." She was quiet after that, and Aragorn listened as her breathing slowed and steadied, taking in the warmth and scent of her until he himself fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's where it ends, I'm afraid.


End file.
